


Brother Mine

by HoodedKermit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 percent chance of a second chapter, Dean's 22, M/M, Sam's 18, Sammy is really taking charge, just yell at me till I write it, not really my intention but I Said What I Said, super short drabble thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 04:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedKermit/pseuds/HoodedKermit
Summary: Boys kissing in the dark. Shamelessly self-indulgent.





	Brother Mine

The grass is cool and dewy, not quite wet, beneath his bare feet. It sticks up between his toes, dampening the spaces between them. Dean's standing in his backyard is his boxers and a tank top and begins to think that yeah, maybe that's a little weird, so he sits down instead. He can't be the only one dying in the unprecedented heat - it's been damn near a hundred degrees all week. The grass loses it's effect quickly; it feels like he's sitting on a wet patch of hot dirt.

Dean used to come outside to breathe; his family was resentful at the best of times but lately, they've been bordering on dysfunctional. John's taking on more hours at the garage (and he works forty hours a week already), and mom seems more unhappy now than she's been in years. Dean thinks she suspects John of infidelity and he can't really blame her; it's happened before. On a number of occasions. Now, Dean sits in the night air and lets go. He thinks of everything and anything but his family slowly drifting apart and about Sam, mostly. The bouncy mop of hair on his head, the determined look he gets when Dean makes one of his, for the record, entirely fair bets against him (it isn't Dean's fault Sam can't name all of Dr. Sexy's love interests in the series' second season.) and this one was his favorite; the smile he fails at hiding every time Dean ruffles his hair.

Sam had grown a head taller than him the previous summer and Dean may not given him as many noogies, or patted him on the head as much as he did when Sam was still his half-pint little brother. Sam is growing up and he wants his own space, Dean assumed. Dean wanted to provoke his little brother but hadn't thought, months later, that Sam wouldn't mind his playful affections when he'd patted Sam on the head for a job well done, his hand lingering in the chestnut down for a touch too long, and certainly hadn't though his little brother would blush with that smile he'd missed so.

Needless to say, Sam occupies his mind far more than he should.

They've been in each other's pockets for so long that Sam almost feels like an extension of himself. They're like two atoms in a molecule; inseparably combined. They've had full conversations with their eyes alone in a world they created together and friends, family members and strangers alike look on in amused bewilderment. They fight, as brothers do, and sometimes it ends with fists and blood. But they always make up. Sam will outright apologize, the guilt (and Dean's bloody, swollen nose) eating away at him because even when they fight, Dean can't bring himself to hurt his little brother. He'll walk into Dean's room with a new cassette wrapped in Snoopy comics and tell Dean he hits like a girl, and Dean will understand. Dean will laugh and say it's because of his gentle spirit and the truth of it will ring too loud in the silence.

Dean isn't as straight-forward as Sam and Dean thinks that he suffers because of it. He'll let the issue drag along much longer than it needs to because he can't find the right words. Sometimes he's just a coward and he can't face Sam with the emptiness inside of him growing and swallowing another ounce of his resolve every time Sam touches him. He'll leave Sam an apology note in his messy chicken scratch, which almost never ends well, and cook Sam's favorite breakfast before taking him out to do something Sam knows he positively detests. Because words never quite mean what you want, at least in Dean's experience, so he tries his damnedest to speak through his actions and Sam understands.

He can hear the screen door slide open and shut a moment later behind him and Dean is pulled from his rather intrusive thoughts. A body that's too long and too tall to be anyone but Sam, if the far apart footfalls are any indication, walks outside and sits beside him. Sam's always close enough for Dean to feel that he's there. When they walk together, their elbows or shoulders will bump, or when they sit their knees touch; always close enough to feel each other's body heat bleeding into the space between them, and he'll want silently. He'll push his iniquitous desire aside and enjoy their time together, the right way; the way he's allowed to.

"Sam." He doesn't say anything else, just let's his little brother know he's got Dean's attention.

"What are you doing out here so late?" Sam's voice was rough. Dean takes in a slow deep breath and exhales loudly. It feels like he can breath a little easier with Sam by his side. He leans on his little brother, his head resting on Sam's shoulder. He feels so small next to him sometimes.

"Sundowning, I guess."

Sam looks at him and he can't help the warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He thought, rested his head atop Dean's and spoke in a hushed tone.

"The lies we tell our brothers." There are thin, misty clouds hanging in the sky. One withdraws behind Sam's line of sight and he can see the moon, clearly and perfectly. It hung proud and white in the star-less sky. "You're terrible." He whispers into Dean's hair. Sam crosses his legs in front of him, shivering at the damp grass tickling his legs. Dean huffs beside him and smiles with mirth, scooting as close as he can be to his little brother. Sam lifts his right hand hesitantly and cards his fingers through Dean's hair, dragging his fingers through the short strands. Dean exhales slowly through his nose.

"It's damn near as hot out here as it is in the house." Dean comments. Summers in Kansas are almost unbearable. Sam hums in agreement. His hand is still in Dean's hair, sliding toward his hairline before he drags his nails lightly over Dean's scalp. It's undeniably intimate. Dean sighs quietly, the buzzing he seems to feel under skin whenever Sam is around rising in ardor. It's only in their weaker moments that he and Sam indulge themselves. Sometimes Dean will be subtle with his intentions; with a gentle nudge of a knee, a lingering hand or a sidelong glance. Sometimes it's Sam who sits too close in the witching hour or showers Dean with kisses, whispering saccharine, forbidden promises into his ear. When the world is asleep and they can pretend it didn't happen in the morning. The reality of it leaves a bitter taste in Dean's mouth. But they don't talk about it. What is understood doesn't need to be explained. He sits in the grass until his boxers feel uncomfortably moist.

Dean stands up, Sam's hand falling from it's place in his hair, and waits for his little brother to do the same. They walk towards the patio door together, Sam a pace behind his older brother. Dean slides the door open quietly, only enough for them to get back in, and closes it again. The light from the stove set the kitchen alight with a warm glow. Sam is staring at Dean as he stands in front of him, gazing up at him through his eyelashes.

"Dean." Sam's voice was nothing more than a whisper and a touch deeper than earlier. Sam takes Dean's hand in his own and when his older brother doesn't protest, he pulls Dean in until their chests are almost touching; until Dean lifts his head and their noses brush; until their breath mingles in the space between them before returning.

Dean's heart was pounding in his ears. He pushed closer and their lips touched for a moment. Sam made the decision for them and kissed Dean, pulling him flush to his chest and holding him there. Dean could feel Sam's heart beating just as fitful as his own. Sam's hand flies up to Dean's nape, tilting his head upward. Dean made a small, keening noise at the back of his throat and Sam flicked his tongue against his brother's, deepening the kiss. Dean's holding onto Sam like his life depends on it; cradling either side of his face. The slick slide of Sam's tongue against his made ripples of pleasure skating down his spine and he could feel a dove's wing beats tickling his ribs, quickening his breath. Sam's practiced tongue is tracing the ridges in the roof of his mouth and he very nearly cries when Sam pulls away with a wet pop, his and Sam's breath huffed out in short puffs.

Sam fists Dean's hair in one hand and pulled, baring his neck and Dean moaned softly before clamping his mouth shut and praying to a God he didn't believe in that their parents were still asleep. Sam noses at Dean's neck and trails soft kisses down to his collar bone, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there and licking the faint red stripes left in his wake. Dean quivered with every nick of Sam's teeth, with every swipe of his tongue against and him buried his right hand in the hair at the base of his little brother's skull. Sam backed Dean into the kitchen's island and wedged one of his legs between his brother's, pushing one of his free hand up Dean's tank top.

"Sammy." Dean murmured hurriedly, the grind of his hips shameless against the muscle of Sam's thigh. Sam tweaks one of his nipples and it makes Dean's hips stutter and lose their rhythm. He's fighting to stay quiet, breathing harshly through his nose and biting the swell of his bottom lip so hard he's afraid it may bleed and Dean could get off like this, half naked with the hard press of Sam's arousal against the hollow of his hip; drunk on the heady mix of endorphins and Sam and everything he thought he'd never have. It's so hot (pun intended) and he's slick with sweat, his hair matted to his forehead and the hair at Sam's nape is damp between his fingers. Sam's large hands are all over him; smoothing down his flanks to reach his ass, and defeat in his battle to stay as quiet as possible is fast approaching. Somewhere in his hormone-addled brain a rational though emerges, the brakes on his train of thought (Sammy, please, don't stop) comes screeching to a halt.

"Sam... Sammy, wait-" He pushes at Sam's shoulders and he eases up. Dean reaches up with both hands and pulls Sam's face close, his eyes darting back and forth between the opalescent blue-green of his brother's. Their breath was too loud in the silence and what they might have been doing would be unmistakable to any listening ears. Dean can feel Sam's breath on his face, can feel the throb of his sex against him, and can see the unabashed need in his near-black eyes. Sam understands, easy as breathing, and drops his head to Dean's shoulder to huff out a laugh, his long hair tickling Dean's sensitive skin. Sam turns his head to whisper in Dean's ear. He hesitates, leaving open mouth kisses along the shell of Dean's ear, nibbling at the sensitive skin behind his older brother's jaw and beneath his ear.

"This is getting out of hand." He says, quietly. They stand in silence together and try valiantly to calm the pulse in their ears, so loud they can barely hear their ragged breathing. It's a while before either of them speaks. Long enough for Sam's gentle assault on Dean's neck to halt.

"How long...?" Dean asks, breath feather-light against Sam's skin. Sam plays with a loose thread at the hem of Dean's top, his older brother draping his other arm across Sam's shoulders.

"Forever." He thinks better of his next admission, but says it anyway. "You were my first crush." Sam says, smiling ruefully with a puce tint to his cheeks. Dean pulls away slightly, his hold on Sam never faltering, and he peers up at him in the faint light. The mop of hair on his head was all over the place and he was reminded of a twelve year old Sam snatching the scissors away from him, sternly asserting that "If I want to wear my hair longer, then I'm damn well going to." Some of his fringe had fallen into his eyes and Dean tucks it behind his ear, completely aware of how cliched it is. The thin line of his motley turquoise eyes shone in the dim light of their kitchen and Dean swore Sam's smile alone was why the sun rose; swore that the sun died every night so that the moon could have a chance to see his face alight with joy.

It could have been his paranoia or maybe the house was settling in the wee hours of the morning, but Dean heard something. What, he couldn't be sure of and Sam must have heard it too because they nearly sprang apart, a good amount of distance between them. They wade silently through the darkness, Sam extending an arm to his side to halt Dean as they reach the hallway. Their parents' bedroom was behind the door, slightly ajar, across from the bathroom. Sam walked deftly with an unusual amount of stealth for his size and peered through the crack in the doorway. Both John and Mary were asleep. Relieved, they agree that it's best this night end before they dig themselves into a hole they can't climb out of.

"I'd hate for this to end," Sam spoke carefully, "before it even got started." Dean stood up on the balls of his feet and kissed Sam again, slow and just as passionate, before they went to their separate bedrooms for the evening.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my trash, I really appreciate it. Leave a comment. Or don't, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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